


Queen of the Shack

by CareenMeToSpace



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: EvilMabel, EvilStan, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Sexual Violence, Torture, Violence, revelling in evil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CareenMeToSpace/pseuds/CareenMeToSpace
Summary: Stanley 'Piranha' Pines is on forced leave as a "reward" from Bill Cipher to his suggested universe of F-056. Casual fucking around aside, a particular girl catches his intrigue. Someone he can remember?Based on Karaii's Evil Stan AU and AhKaraii's commision fanart here:https://ahkaraii.tumblr.com/post/159741958537/commission-for-notyourcupcake-d-evil-stan-and-aI couldn't help myself. Sorry.All characters depicted are over 18.





	1. Time Off

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Karaii's Evil Stan AU and AhKaraii's commision fanart here:  
> https://ahkaraii.tumblr.com/post/159741958537/commission-for-notyourcupcake-d-evil-stan-and-a
> 
> I couldn't help myself. Sorry.

Stan grunted as he roughly thrust again, sliding deeper into the woman’s tight folds. His black and yellow jacket lay discarded on the bench beside her to relieve the heat coming off him. The purple night cooled his skin, but he shivered nonetheless. The prostitute pushed back against him. Her legs were apart and she braced her arms on the bench, baring her teeth, hissing out each ragged breath.

“Fuck,” she threw the fake word away like a dead cigarette. 

_ Did it mean anything to her anymore? _ Stan wondered. The smell of discarded beer and smoke filled the alley behind the Gravity Falls Skull Fracture bar. The pair were barely lit in yellow by the singular lamp post above their sordid act. Honestly, Stan didn’t think he could take seeing any more of the scene. He tugged at the woman’s ample hips, driving himself forward and frowning in disgust. She was silent as the night, all but her heels tapping the concrete floor of the alley in time with Stan’s movement. He glanced at the yellow triangle glaring up from the jacket. His own vicious Piranha swelling above it.

“Take some time off Bruiser.” Bill Cipher’s artificial voice still rang through his head. Always rang through his artificial head. “You deserve it after that golden haul you made last week. Hah, get it? Golden? Because I turn them into gold? It’s funny. Laugh with me Bruiser!”

_ Deserve this? _ Stan wondered.  _ I’m supposed to like this. I remember… liking this. _

Stan winced and brought a hand up to his eyepatch. Facing the other way, the woman assumed nothing as the half assed movements of Stan’s fucking continued, unfaltering. He looked to the horizon, the dark outlines of the trees easing his distaste.

_ Who does he think he is, forcing me to take time off? Our deal was I work. My body is forfeit anyway. Why does he care if I go mad from it? Why did he send me here? _

“You keep a close eye out while you’re travelling in F-056,” Bill's voice phased in and out of Stan’s brain like a whisper through a tin can telephone. “Some of the people there, my god. I swear, It’s one of my favorites.”

Stan sighed and lowered himself over the woman. He breathed in deep, letting her scent drip against his nose. It didn’t help. She smelt of cheap champagne and orange spray-on tan. He kept moving. A flicker of light danced across the dark silhouettes of the trees, but his eyes were dull to it. He stilled, raising his head slowly to scan the darkness.

“Hey, you done?” the woman groaned.

“Shut the fuck up,” Stan warned.

A click, a flicker of blue electricity and a small shapely figure with long hair was instantly revealed before fading back into the darkness.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she called to them, letting out a little giggle at the end.

Stan grunted, scratching the back of his chestnut mullet. Stan looked down at the woman. She was looking around for the source of the voice too, but couldn’t see, not like he could. He followed the dull shine of the girl’s eyes in the darkness. The tiniest reflection of himself and the prostitute shone out like silver coins.

“Come out of the shadows little girl,” he growled.

Stan thought he heard her harumph at them.

“You’re not going to keep going?” She teased, stepping into the light. She couldn’t have been older than 18 with that height and voice, but the look on her face was something sly, someone innocent couldn’t make a face like that. It was too knowing, too thirsty.

“I was enjoying the show,” she continued.

“Fuck off kid!” The woman stood to chastise the girl, but Stan thrust her back down over the bench with one large hand, crushing her words against the wood. Pines grew a wide and toothy grin, dragging his fingers over her back. His unnaturally pointy teeth clenched together like a bear trap.

“What are you-?” the woman started.

“What do you care? I’m still paying you.” Stan eyed the girl as she strode towards them, hands cutely held behind her back. She was still smiling, despite Stan's monstrous display. Her black lace skirt bounced as she walked and she was wearing a knitted sweater a size too small. On the front a yellow star shot across with a rainbow trail. Stan’s eyes watched her hands as she placed them on her hips.

“I’m Mabel! What’s your name?”

Stan pressed himself against the woman's crotch, partially to hide himself from the girl. 

“Can’t you see I’m a little busy kid?” He was a monster. This shouldn’t bother him in the slightest. The hairs of his neck raised though, like his instincts had latched onto the newcomer.  _ Mabel she said. Where did he know that name from? _

“Seems like you're having a little trouble getting bus-ay.” She stretched the word like a sassy hairdresser.

Stan decided to ignore the feeling. He was supposed to be relaxing after all. He rubbed his tip through the woman’s glistening wetness without moving his gaze from the girl, hoping to intimidate some reaction from her with the stoney eye contact.

“God you're sick!” the woman beneath him cried out. He roughly flipped her over and gripped her by the neck. At this point she was pushing and clawing at his arms. The little nips from her fake nails doing nothing.

He thrust himself deep inside her and she let out a shriek. Stan stiffened as he felt the girl touching his bicep.  _ What the hell? _

“Ooh,” she gave a squeeze, completely ignoring the prostitutes desperate gasps of breath. “Stranger, your arms are to die for.”

“Get the hell off me.” Stan swiped a hook back to where she’d been standing, but only hit the air. Before he knew it the girl was back and her hands were locked on the prostitute’s wrists. She jerked them back away from Stan.

“Please let me help. Don't you wanna have some fun? I’m great fun. Everyone who’s anyone knows so.” Up close, Stan could see the girl's wide eyed smile, her headband and tight hot pink sweater. She was gorgeous, dripping with a sickly sweet radiance. She smelt of lavender and something preserved as spirits. Vodka maybe. She leant down, breathing close to the woman's neck.

“You smell gross lady.”

“What the fuck?” the prostitute screamed.

“That won't do.” The girl stuffed her mouth with a piece of pink cloth before returning her arms up to the restrained position. “You seem like a rough kind of man.” Mabel sneered. “Want a little spice?” Stan found himself drooling a little. He almost literally worked for the devil, but this girl's voice sent shivers up his spine. She turned her head towards the woman's neck and nosed the flesh for a bit. The prostitute gasped and jerked around, but after a moment let out a bit back moan. Bit by bit, she was worn down to enjoying the little licks from Mabel. That is until she bit down hard. The woman thrashed against the bench, but only succeeded in tearing her neck even more open from Mabel’s sudden bite. Stan's rocking into the woman jittered. He stumbled in shock over his pace and thrust with renewed enthusiasm at the barren violence dripping from woman to girl, girl to woman.

“Fuck, yes.” Stan lowered himself over them, tightening a hold on the edge of the bench and pounding it like a wild animal in heat. The scent of her blood overpowered all the other gross human scents. Her body writhed in agony, twisting and pushing to escape, but there was no escape, not unless it was through the wall of grunting pleasure that was Stan Pines. Mabel licked a bloody stripe up the woman’s neck. He was transfixed by it, how she closed her fluttering eyes, letting out the gentlest intake of breath. Then he could feel it, that growing well of tension right at his pelvis. Before he’d been wallowing in its absence. Now he was hunting it with fervor. He looked down to Mabel, clenching his teeth and probably looking like some kind of vicious freak. To his surprise, Mabel was staring innocently back up at him. She’d taken a small desperate position and was breathing heavily. Now she only held the woman’s arms with one of her own. He noted her glove, black with blue electrical wire running in a coiled mesh all over. 

_ Curious invention, but where was her other-? Oh. _

Stan watched the blush grow on her face and gradually pushed deeper, harder, faster into the woman. He winced and hunched over her, cascading into the final throes of his pleasure with a gasping groan. He finally released himself into her limp, destroyed body, imagining the fresh promise of such a night with another, more interesting woman. He slid out of her and stood up, looking around. Mabel was gone, but he could still smell a trace of the woman’s blood edging towards the forest. He pulled the pink cloth from the woman’s mouth and wiped himself. Stan stood back, pocketing it and righting his pants. He stroked a hand through his hair and took in a deep breath.

“Tell anyone what happened and I’ll be back. You got that?” He smiled.

The woman nodded, tears streaming down her bloodied face. She curled up on the ground, watching, waiting to disappear. Instead he did along with his jacket.


	2. Splinters

Stanley paced quickly through the familiar redwood forest. He breathed hard, soaking in the multitude of scents. The damp brook running to the south, the mould of the cracked log turning to mulch beneath his feet. Still he trailed behind her sweet perfume. Lavender, alcohol and blood. Stan crouched low, finding a slight indent in the dusty path followed with splatters of red. She was either stupid or wanted him to follow.  He had so many maps in his head of the same town, the same world along with all the minor noted variations. The trees of T-168 that all bent towards Ford’s shack, the gnomes of X-657 that made burrows far from the shack as possible. Here the moon glazed the whole forest in a violet hue and the trees had eyes. They always had eyes. Stan followed the rough path down between the trees. For a while the tracks stopped, irritatingly straight towards a tree trunk, as if Mabel had phased right through it. Stan checked the other side. Nothing. A scuff mark at head height told him she’d walked right up the tree. Odd, but not impossible. He turned back to the path he had been following. If she had stayed on the ground it would take him straight to the Shack. Ford's shack. He wouldn't put anti gravity boots past Ford's ingenious inventions, but how did Mabel get them? Who was she to Ford? Most of the Fords he’d hunted were reclusive hermits, hiding themselves away like mad scientists. Isn't that why they had the shack in the first place? He started walking back to follow the path. Above him there was the sound of a snapping branch. Stan smirked, but kept walking away. He kept an ear out for Mabel all the way to his brother's house.

 

He arrived at the shack after a few minutes and broke the door down with a firm kick. The door collapsed, sending a mix of dust and sparkles flying through the dark room.

“Mabel. Come out sweety,” he called through the run down shack. A few groans could be heard further in. Stan pulled a hunting knife from his belt, spinning it leisurely between his fingers. Quietly turning the corner into the kitchen, he found the source of a moan. A teen lay face down, mumbling into a table of multi coloured candies. Stan grabbed a bunch of black hair to yank the teen’s face up.

“Who are you? Why are you here kid?”

“Ow, fuck,” the teen said slowly. “Get off me.”

Stan thrust the kid’s head back down, shocking him enough to stand up from the table. He stumbled and tripped onto the floor.

“You drunk?” Stan said, sitting at the other side of the table.

“Hahah!” The kid fumbled at the floor, stood back up against the table and pointed at Stan.

“You- You’re funny dude. I- I’m all kinds of weird right now.”

Stan rolled his eyes. He stabbed the knife down into the table and pulled the kid off balance again, into the seat he’d found him in. Stan had snaked a hand around the kid’s as he tried to stay on balance. Now he pinned it to the table.

“I got a few questions.”

“I can’t- I can’t-”

“Oh you can and you will. You like to make a bet?” Stan smiled.

The kid shook in his chair, fixated on the knife buried deep in the table.

“Poker, blackjack. All the best games drain you hard for something, but I don’t want money.”

Stan grabbed the handle of the knife and tilted, cracking the wood till splinters started bunching upwards. He took one and stuck it in his mouth, rolling the pine between his sharp teeth. Another he picked up in his fingers.

“I want to know Mabel.”

The kid’s eyes froze.

“You don’t want to know Mabel,” the kid replied. “She- she- she’s a-. Fuck.”

“Seem’s like you’re having some trouble kid.” Stan drew his prisoner’s arm forward. “Make a bet with me. How many of these,” Stan spun a splinter between his forefinger and thumb. “do you think you can take before passing out?” Stan’s eyes betrayed nothing of how fulfilled he was with such activities. Only the slight raise at the corner of his mouth showed the inkling of Stan's satisfaction.

“My record’s 15, but that may have been from the blood loss too. I'd been shot at the time.”

“No, no. Please!” The kid begged, trying to pull his arm away.

“I’m gonna add one for each question you can’t answer.”

Stan held the splinter right against the flesh under the kid’s fingernail. 

“Now, tell me how some little teen bitch got a hold of Ford’s tech.”

“F-Ford? I-”

“Right.” Stan jabbed the needle sharp wood hard under the nail.

“AAAAAAAH!” The kid pounded his fist hard onto the table as blood began to pool beneath his other.

“Ford, the grey tinged fox. Wears a tacky red turtleneck sweater and a trenchcoat. You’re getting high in his shack.”

“This is Mabel’s shack! This is Mabel’s shack!” he shouted. “I’ve only seen Wendy, Mabel and that pig here. Fuck! Fuck it hurts!”

“Then where’d she get her toys? Hmm?”

“I don’t know. She disappears lots. I'm fucking high all the time here. How the hell should I know?”

Stan smiled as the kid just fueled his curiosity. Bad move considering his position. He moved to press down the next finger.

“No-,” the kid gasped.

“Numero dos,” Stan exclaimed theatrically. “When-.”

A creak crossed the threshold into the entry hall. Stan stood up, pulling the knife from its place. He left the kid sprawled on the table in pain and walked back out into the hall.

“Mabel?” he cooed like a horror film psychopath.

A giggle rang out from the top of the stairs.

“Having fun?” Mabel’s voice called from higher.

Stan looked up to the ceiling. 

_ Of course.  _ He thought.

Mabel knelt like a frog hanging upside down from the roof. Her hair trailed towards the ground, still subject to gravity. She tilted her head back and forth, giggling.

“Robbie’s not the best company when he's like that. Sounds like you still had a romp though.” Her innocent smile and gamey tone felt off.

No one reacted to hearing torture like that. No one but Stan and the other henchmaniacs.

“Why don't you come down and we can talk little girl?”

“Why don't you suck an egg old man?” She stood up and walked down the slope above the stairs closer to Stan. She crossed her arms and tilted to one side.

“I'm not old yet you little twit.”

“Prove it!”

Stan pulled his handgun from its holster and let out three rounds. Left, right of her head and grazed the wool of her sweater just at her hip. Mabel gave a groan.

“You think violence is youth?” she shrugged.

“I think age messes with your aim,” Stan quipped back.

“Guess you are old then.”

Mabel knelt back down so her hands touched the ceiling and looked at Stan.

“You won't hurt me.”

“What?” said Stan.

Mabel let herself hang just by one hand and dropped suddenly. She seemed like a vision to push right at the end a foot forward. She slipped her leg down Stan's chest, twisting and sliding until her thighs were pressed right around his neck. He froze, suddenly…  _ Afraid? _

There was a pain at his neck. Something needle sharp and deep. For a moment, Stan's vision went red. He flung his head once back against her, then fell to his knees, numb. He could hear the pounding of the blood between his fingers, rushing through his ears and neck. Pulsing against her milky soft thighs. He turned his head as Mabel took a step down to the ground. For a second he could feel her, really feel her legs flowing down like a silk waterfall and the slit between her legs brush against his cheek. Something he wanted to clasp tight, grip and control, something he wanted to snuff out with his own pleading indulgences. She was so perfect. He had seen it before, but what did she do to him? A glass vial needle swung from between her fingers. Stan's blood froze.  _ Did she poison me? _

“You won't hurt me. You like me too much. They all like me too much.”

Stan coughed. The air was hot and dribbled across his skin like a warm spirit down his throat.

“Who?” he asked slowly.

“I think you'll be pleased to see one of my guests in particular. Let's go Piranha.” Mabel made a biting sound with her teeth to emphasize Stan's nickname.

_ She's seen at least one other dimension where they know my name. Or someone told her… Told her I was coming? _

Mabel led Stan over to the vending machine. She beckoned with a black gloved finger. He felt his legs moving towards her as he muddled in panic through thoughts of escape. If he couldn't get a hold of himself, he had no chance. She was right. He did like her too much, gave her too much of a chance. She pressed a new code into the machine and took his hand, smiling as she led him down into the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

As they exited the elevator, Stan could feel himself growing flushed, then suddenly cold. He flexed and tensed, making huffing noises as they moved through the shadows. Her small hand pulled him along. Mabel exited into a blinking green light and let go of his him. She skipped over to a switchboard and flicked on the lights. Stan hisses at the sudden brightness. They were in Ford's lab, but the observation section was sealed with the metal shutters down. Mabel moved to a figure slumped over a screen.

“Dipper,” she whispered before switching to a shout and slapping him hard on the back: “Hey Dipper!”

He jumped to attention. The boy was almost exactly her height, wearing an orange shirt with a blue winter vest and a cap with a pine tree on it. His eyes were tinged with tired red rings and his hair was frizzed like he’d been electrocuted. Stan wouldn’t put it past Mabel to shock him.

“Ah! Mabel! I was just sleeping. It's ok. He's ok. I made sure-,” the kid jittered, terrified of the girl.

“Dipper, I've got someone I'd like you to meet. This is Stanley Pines.”

“Stanley. Pines.” Dipper repeated slowly. “Like, his brother?”

Mabel nodded. “I found him being a very naughty boy by the Gravity Falls bar. So I thought why not have a good old family reunion?”

Dipper looked Stan up and down.

“He’s not family Mabel.”

“Family?” stan wiped a slip of drool from his mouth. “Who are you kids?”

Dipper spun in his chair with a clink. Stan could see he’d been shackled to the wall by his ankles on a long chain. His arms were marked with red lines from the same he assumed. Dipper put a hand up to his chin, bracing his elbow with the other arm.

“Which did you use?”

“Hot and cold.”

He sighed.

“Mabel!” her brother shouted at her, exacerbated. “I thought we agreed you shouldn't do this anymore, not with the magic based mixes.”

“And I agreed not to use it on you.”

Stan looked between the two, noting their similar stature and features.

“You’re twins.”

“Oh good. The big oaf’s still got a brain cell in there. I like my meat thinking.”

“I'm not your meat,” Stan replied gruffly before falling forward onto his knees. His joints felt like balls of fuzz, spongy and weak.

“You gave him too much.” Dipper stiffened as Mabel leant her arm on his shoulder.

“And why do you care? Hmm?” she wound a gloved finger through his hair. A zap of blue electricity arced to his skin. He shivered, meekly looking at her.

“I don't,” he said in a monotone voice. As Mabel leant away, Dipper wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, dodging eye contact with her. Dipper was shaking. He plucked a paper thin strip carefully from the desk and handed it over to Mabel.

“The power amplifier you wanted. He finished it last night.”

“Ooh.” Mabel lit up like a christmas tree, literally. Somewhere in the slim confines of her sweater, there must have been a battery pack, because the star at her front lit up.  She bounced. Stan’s eyes distractedly drifted to her chest. She hardly kept still in her excitement for Dipper to fix the thing to her glove.

“Only amping up one hand?” Stan asked, wobbling a little. “Isn't that inefficient?”

Mabel flicked her wrist and her glove lit up in a blaze of blue.

“I wanted a mean right hook just like my grunkle.” She looked at him intensely.

“Grunkle?”

“My great uncle Stan. That's you silly.” Mabel gave him a playful punch on the arm, but her gloves were still on. Stan tried to dodge, but, only turning enough for her knuckles to slide off his jacket. A singed leather smell filled the air along with Mabel's laughter.

“Technically, he's not our grunkle he's a completely different Stanley related to a different set of us, maybe.”

“Yeah, our Stan was way old and not nearly as handsome.” Mabel flicked her glove to be safe again. She brushed a finger to Stan's shoulder and smiled. “Too much talking. I wanna play.”

Stan found himself winding up a punch, but as his head grew fuzzy, it turned into more of a haphazard lunge. Mabel seemed to disappear for a split second before reappearing behind Stan. He could feel his hair being grabbed and before he knew it his face was pressed against the glass of the observatory. Mabel laughed, slowly pressing his face harder against the pane. God only knew how many augmentations she had, how many gadgets and toys, weapons. She pushed harder and the window began to crack.

“Mabel!” Stan heard Dipper shout.

Stan could taste blood. Maybe he’d lost a tooth, maybe the glass was cutting into his face. He couldn't quite tell. He knew her fingers felt oddly good through his scalp. He knew she was laughing. Then she was flicking a switch and the shutters of the observatory opened right in front of his face. In the center of the room was a single chair. On it sat a slumped figure. Stan squinted, seeing his own square frame bound with arms tight behind him. The figure’s hair was shorter than his, with a grey tinge to the side.

“Ford.”


	4. What's that on your arm?

Stan’s fist thrust up to the window with enough force to crack it. Still the wire safety held as Mabel leant over to whisper in Stan’s ear:

“Do you want to play too?”

“Give me Ford!” Stan growled back. “Give him to me!” Stan’s mind grew red. He was forced to hunch awkwardly over the desk from the sheer force of Mabel's strength pinning him. Was it something in the air? Her gloves? The drugs? Stan was pinpoint focused to the slumped man in the chair in front of him. Under the eyepatch, his eye glowed yellow, bleeding light down to his gritted teeth in long dripping trails. He could taste the burning froth in his mouth, tinged and bitter. Mabel didn’t notice, instead tugging Stan back and flinging him across the room with unpredictable force. A sudden jagged pain struck Stan’s back as he collided with the concrete wall. Chips of it rained to the floor. He coughed up blood. Stan turned back to Mabel. Now his mouth was black, rooted deep and spiking up, his teeth grew a sickly pointed yellow.

“Welcome to the family Stan,” Mabel teased, hands on her hips. “You’re a fucking monster.”

Mabel smirked, opening her arms in a welcoming gesture.

“Give him to me.”

Stan lowered his voice, aware that he was losing ground in strides with this infuriating little girl.

“Ignoring the fact that you have no control over this entire situation, why the hell would I give him to you? Hmm?”

Mabel walked over to stan, flickers of blue electricity still sparking at her fingertips.

She put a finger to his brow, making her hand into a gun shape. Stan's hair started to stand on end.

“I've got you babe, in my sights and you're asking me to hand over my gun?” She let out a childish giggle. “You must really be mad.”

Stan clenched his teeth as they faded back to their dull human form.

“Maybe we could make a deal?”

She smiled. “One maniac to another?”

“Why’d you bring me down here? Why drug me? And there's something interesting I’m noticing, about what you gave me.”

“I wouldn't have bothered, but I've got this sort of itch I think you can help me with.”

Stan shivered, his blood running cold down his spine, then hot back up his abdomen. Mabel faux holstered her finger gun and flicked her glove off.

“Are you ready to play?”

Stan had fallen back on his elbows to look at Mabel and relax his aching back. No point in fighting her now. He’d have to crack down on her in a moment of weakness. Mabel moved closer and kicked Stan’s legs open. She rested a heel on the inside of his thigh. Stan groaned, but eyed Dipper behind her, then the glass covered in his blood. Ford swayed. The motion made Stan lose face. Mabel swung back to see what he was looking at. Her hair bounced angrily from the motion.

“We didn't discuss the arrangements of our deal,” Mabel waved a hand at Stan.

She stood back, immediately slapping him. The sting and shock ran a hot jolt straight to his groin. She gripped his chin and pulled it painfully towards her.

“See Stan, this sick fixation you've got on your brother. I got a bit of it too.” She shook her head. “I don't like to work for this. Work is boring. So make a fluffing deal with me and we can get on with our lives.”

Stan looked towards Ford. Mabel tightened her grip. Stan slapped her hand away, the hard pointed tips dragging scores of flesh with them. Stan gasped at the bleeding claw marks she left.

Mabel cackled, snapping little laughs like a sparkler, bouncing off the cement walls.

“Make the deal meat!” she shrieked.

“I want Ford.”

“I'm not giving you Ford.”

“Why not?”

“He makes me things!” she threw her hands up in the air. “Dipper gets to dig around in his head. Then he doesn't try and escape or get bored.”

Dipper looked away to the control panel.

“How can we make a deal if you won't give me something I want?”

Mabel put her hands behind her back and swung her hips forward and back.

“What were you going to do to him?”

Stan pressed a palm over his neck where he was bleeding and hissed.

_“Take a break bruiser!”_

“I take him to my boss and…”

“And?”

“We kill him. Slowly.”

“Hmm.” Mabel frowned in thought.

“Take out the killing part and we're in business. You can do it here.”

“Torture?” Stan froze, considering the proposal. Bill had told him to take a break. If their goal wasn't a priority anymore, why still hunt Fords?

“For the enjoyment?” Stan let the corner of his mouth curl up into a wicked grin.

“What do you want?” He looked back at Mabel.

“I want to watch. And then, whatever else you can offer me to let you live.” Mabel bit the tip of her finger.

Stan's muscles suddenly jerked alive. A hot rush of electricity spun up his spine like a coil of burning wire. He jerked down in pain before writhing back up to stand. His legs twisted awkwardly, but he stood taut. He was ready.

“Hot and cold’s one of my favorite mixes.” Mabel bit her lip and wandered over to him. Finally standing over her, Stan couldn't help but leer down appreciatively as she rearranged her sweater innocently.

“You want to watch me beat the living shit out of your great uncle?”

Mabel nodded at him. Stan's brow twitched.

“How did you get like this sweetness?”

Mabel looked straight at him, a blank look canvassing her face. Her smile returned in a moment. Slowly she brought a hand up to her arm and pulled back her sweater. Under, she wore an intricately patterned black lace armband. Stan found himself wondering why and if they matched some more intimate parts of her clothes. She pulled the fabric up to bunch around her electric glove. Most of Mabel's arm was covered by a patch of oily black stuff. Stan strained his eyes to see. Inside, a world of speckled stars and colourful constellations could be seen. It was fused, trailing into nerves and veins of Mabel's flesh at the edges. It was like looking into a portal. Unlike those Stan had used, this rift was open, gaping like a wound. Its stability seemed linked to Mabel’s body by tugging at her muscles. It twitched as if trying to move. As if it were alive. Somehow. Maybe Ford could have understood it, but Stan was far more interested in the girl it produced than how it worked. He had to admit it was beautiful though, in a horrific kind of way

“It hurt at first.” Mabel's voice broke his thoughts. “I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. I was too sick because of it. Then I heard voices through it. They helped and hurt and helped. Then it was more help than hurt. All the pain is outside now. Everyone helps me with it. Isn't that right Dipper?”

Dipper gave a little sideways smile and wiped more sweat from his twitching brow. Mabel lifted her arm up to her ear and giggled. She pointed at Stan and bellowed out laughter.

"They say you wanted to be a sailor!"

Stan was taken aback. A long time ago he thought he could remember. Ropes and harpoon guns. All his tools seemed to echo something of his nature into the sea, into discovery. Before he was this, before his deal with Bill. Once her laughter calmed down, Mabel returned to her wicked smile and demeanor.

“You've already helped a little Stan, but this deal? Seems to me you have a lot of hurt too, from him.” Mabel pointed through the glass to Ford. Stan's mouth pressed into a hard line. His jaw bulging with the new tension running through his perforated veins.

“He did this to me.” Stan's words came straight out of Mabel's mouth.

Stan's eyes snapped to hers, admiring the same way they’d both been monstrously birthed from Ford's incompetence.

“So, do we have a deal?” Mabel held out a hand, fully sheathed in electricity once more. For a second, Stan saw her hand in simple black, a single eyed creature with flame in place of lightning. Tempting, like a siren lost in the multiverse. He shook his head and Mabel was Mabel again. Stan cautiously placed his hand around hers.

“Let's play.”


End file.
